


Those Left Behind

by joeyrory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Drug Use, Gen, Grimmauld Place, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9544334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeyrory/pseuds/joeyrory
Summary: Harry struggles to keep his pain from pushing his head underwater, but he ends up drowning all the same.Snape finds himself forced to prevent Harry from achieving his own destruction.Remus is just broken.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry couldn’t decide if the quiet that permeated Grimmauld place was comforting or just depressing. On one hand, he doubted he could handle the always bright, loud and warm company of the Burrow right now, but on the other, he found his own mind and body increasingly feeding off the stillness of his surroundings. 

Whilst Order meetings continued to be held on a semi-regular basis, without Sirius around to champion his cause, Harry found himself once again ushered softly out of the way. The silencing charms cast on the doors created an unnatural quiet that made things eerily still from the outside, and other than the occasional screeching of Mrs. Black’s portrait, it was so noiseless that Harry had taken to tapping on hard surfaces to assure himself his hearing was still intact.

Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that Harry’s summer should be spent here as opposed to at the Dursleys, something that Harry admittedly was rather grateful for, although he suspected Dumbledore’s insistence had been more to do with ensuring a group of people were on hand to watch Harry and report back to the headmaster at regular intervals than Harry’s own comfort.   
Lupin was his main companion, the man having few other places to go and little else to do. Dumbledore himself visited from time to time, though rarely approached Harry beyond brief niceties and polite inquiries as to his health, which Harry batted away with a litany of equally insincere ‘I’m fine’s. More common were the Weasley order members and several others whom he recognised from the previous summer. He’d spotted Tonks coming and going, rarely without upsetting some furnishing or ornament and once Kingsley Shacklebolt had met him in the hallway by the stairs, nodding and opening his mouth with a sickeningly tender look on his face that had Harry rushing for the stairs before he could be bathed in condolences and concerns. Luckily, he’d not yet been forced to face his friends, a prospect that made him feel like curling up in the foetal position.

In the first few weeks of the summer, he’d been approached fairly regularly, mostly by Lupin but also by Mr. Weasley and others, with offers to talk, gentle questions about his wellbeing and empty reassurances, until he had made it clear to all that he was fine but wanted to be left alone for now. To his relief, they had mostly accepted his request, though Lupin would still occasionally corner him in the kitchen and try for small talk when they were alone. 

Unfortunately, he’d had to be a bit firmer with Mrs. Weasley, who, upon seeing him, had immediately swept him into her arms and rocked him softly to murmurs of ‘Harry dear, we are so sorry. If you need anything…’ Harry had firmly removed himself from her grasp and coldly assured her he was not in need of anything. Her face had crumpled in concern and he had been grateful when Remus has put a hand on her arm and led her away kindly. Since then, she had taken to smiling hopefully at Harry and greeting him warmly when she saw him but surprisingly kept a respectful distance. 

On his way past the kitchen one evening, he’d paused at the door when he’d heard her talking tearfully to a softly consoling Lupin.

‘There Molly, he’ll come around. Let him be for now. He’s got more strength than he lets on”

‘He seems so unhappy, Remus. If he knew how much-‘ there was a small sob ‘how much we care about him’.

Lupin’s voice was gentle.

‘He does know, I promise you. It’s just going to take a little time. I’m always here if he needs it.’

‘And you Remus?’

‘I’ll be fine too’

When Harry had gotten to his room, he’d laid awake for a while replaying Remus’ words. 

What strength? He had wondered bitterly. What were they seeing that he couldn’t?

The question continued to bother him and finally, he had firmly pushed the thought aside and made an effort to distract himself with exploring the old house in the days following.

So far he had avoided Sirius’ room, but now he stood in faded jeans and shirt in the centre of it, eyes scanning the posters on the wall and the iron bed, still unmade. He found himself picturing Sirius’s image, interacting with the room as if still here. The picture played like an old film that Harry couldn’t bring himself to switch off.

Sirius sitting with his feet up on the bed reading, Sirius sneezing at the dust as he kicked his shoes off, Sirius jumping up in alarm when Snape’s alert came that Harry was in danger… 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath and then proceeded to step deliberately around the books and paper strewn across the floor. Faint footsteps on the floor below made him freeze and he held his breath until the sound faded away, then, lit a single candle that he found by the bed, sunk to the floor and slid under the large iron bed on his belly. Wrinkling his nose up at the dust that he dislodged, he found two shabby looking boxes pushed far underneath the bedframe. Wincing a bit, he gripped at them with two fingers on each hand and slid back out awkwardly. He pulled them to a dusty corner, settling down and sitting cross-legged to peer at the contents.

The first contained what looked like numerous motorcycling manuals, the pages yellowed with age and use. He lifted one up and flipped through it gently, pausing when he noticed black figures on one of the pages. Sucking in a painful breath, he realised they were where Sirius had doodled absentmindedly in the blank spaces. Running his finger over the grooves the quill had made, he brushed his thumb over the tail of a happy looking dog. A smile split his face even as his eyes stung. He carefully traced the ‘Padfoot’ written underneath-

‘Potter’

Harry jumped violently, shooting to his feet and causing the box and the magazines inside to tumble off his knees and spill across the floor. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed harshly at his face to gather himself and glared across the room to where Snape stood like a shadowy, oversized bat in the doorway. To his extreme annoyance, he noted a smirk on the man’s face already.

‘Jumpy, are we? I rather hope you’re not up to anything unsavoury, though I dare say that’s too much to ask.’

Burning with fury and humiliation that he had let Snape of all people see him in this state, let alone shake him up, Harry curled the hand still clutching Sirius’ magazine hard into the spine. ‘What do you want?’ he croaked with as much venom as he could manage.

‘Careful Potter’ Snape said sharply ‘not everyone will lower themselves in order to treat you like a delicate little maiden’. Harry felt his nails dig into the magazine cover as Snape’s eyes glittered down at him. There was a slight pause as if Snape was intentionally watching Harry for his reaction, drinking in the uncomfortable atmosphere.

‘I am here because Dumbledore feels it necessary to continue with your Occlumency training in light of…recent events. ‘

Something white hot and bubbling washed over Harry’s body at the casual mention of Sirius’ death. He forced himself to focus on the other piece of information. Occlumency? With Snape? He couldn’t go through that again. Not with him. There was no way in hell Harry was going to be able to get a hold on his emotions when faced with the man who he had watched taunt Sirius into leaving the house. He felt like saying this to Snape, screaming it at him, but instead he stood, frozen in his anger, his stomach churning unpleasantly.

When it looked like Snape was about to sweep out the room, he shook his head minutely. ‘No way’ he bit out.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Frankly Potter, I don’t care in the least what you “want”. I believe I’ve already made my own position on teaching snooping little sneaks abundantly clear last year but it is a matter of necessity, the headmaster assures me. I’ve made my peace with it and so will you. So, I _will_ return Friday evening and you _will_ be ready for me, with your mind cleared, in the downstairs drawing room at 8 pm. ‘

‘I am NOT a –‘

‘This is not up for discussion Potter!’ Snape barked. ‘The universe does not revolve around you and your self pity!’

He turned and strode from the doorway before Harry could retort, snapping out a sharp ‘8 pm!’ behind him as he went.

Once the footsteps had once again faded from his ears Harry let out a shaky breath. His insides felt raw and his legs were trembling enough that he slid slowly to the ground to avoid them buckling. Dropping the magazine beside him, he pushed his palms hard into his eyes, until spots danced behind his eyes and he managed to slow his breathing. 

He was angry that a single exchange with Snape had brought forth such emotion that it had all but paralysed him. He had to to find a way to access that strength that Lupin had so confidently declared he had. It just…hurt so much. Harry felt like his heart was frozen in sharp ice that cut deeper every day, he just needed to deaden some of the pain somehow so it didn’t consume him, else Voldemort would only need to utter Sirius’ name and watch Harry fall.

He knew that his unstable emotions would make him easy prey for more mind attacks, but the idea of more Occlumency lessons on top of how he was feeling was almost unbearable. Waves of nausea roiled over him at the thought that Snape would soon be back inside his head, poking around, rifling through all of his thoughts and feelings at his most vulnerable. And Harry knew, he knew that the bastard would be looking for whatever was most painful so that he could use it for ammunition. He bought his hand to his knees to hug them into his chest, when his elbow brushed against the unexplored box.

Still feeling sick, Harry unfurled himself and prised open the lid on autopilot. At first glance it looked like a potions kit but the phials it held were very small and all uniform. He picked one up and held it to the candle light. The liquid inside was thick and dark. It glittered hypnotically, and harry found himself oddly unwilling to look away. Eventually he pulled his eyes to the rest of the box, scanning it for some information about the substance. The bottles were all unlabelled but at the box’s base, he found what looked like a handwritten receipt. Scrawled on the scrap of parchment in untidy writing was acknowledgement of payment for 50 doses of something called ‘Oblivion’. Harry blinked. That wasn’t very…Latin sounding for a potion. He figured it was a street name for something and read the note at the bottom, ‘Enjoy!’

Picking up one of the tiny phials again Harry considered the liquid. Sirius had bought…enjoyable potion? Most of the potions Harry had taken in the past were medicinal in nature and almost always unpleasant in taste. Though he supposed that pepper up potions or the effects of pain relief had been nice. If only they worked on non-physical pain too, that would be helpful right now he thought. Or…maybe…

He pulled the tiny cork out of the bottle and sniffed at it. It smelt sharp, like the pear drops a teacher at his primary school once gave the class at Christmas, but with an undertone of something herbal he couldn’t quite place. He pushed the rim of the cool glass to his lips and hesitated. Despite the decontaminating efforts of the order, everyone was still careful about touching any potentially dark artefacts in Grimmauld Place. But…this had been under Sirius’ bed. Harry doubted Sirius had bought anything dark and it was clearly meant to be enjoyable. He was also pretty sure there were less than 50 phials remaining in the box meaning Sirius had likely drunk some already. The thought steeled his nerves and presented a wonderful opportunity: he could feel exactly how Sirius had felt taking this potion, a shared experience. Making his mind up, he tipped his head back and let the liquid slide into his mouth. 

It was cold, bitingly so, and the coldness followed the liquid down his throat. He thought his original assessment of pear drops and something herby was accurate, the flavour of both now overwhelming and joining somehow with the swirling coolness resting in his belly. He stilled then furrowed his brow waiting for something enjoyable to happen. He heaved himself onto Sirius’ bed and was about to check the phial for some kind of shelf life date when suddenly, the cold softly swirling inside him exploded. He clung to the bed sheets as his body was flooded with sensation so strong that his vision was blank and ears ringing. The coldness seemed to flood him under his skin and then warm until everything became very slow. Harry felt like his whole being was floating above the bed, weightless, warm to his very bones. He wasn’t aware of the phial rolling out of his hand, of falling backwards onto his back on the bed, of his eyes glazing and mouth becoming lax. Nor was he aware of the guilt he was no longer feeling, the pain and worry. the anger. No, as he finally shifted into sleep, Harry was only aware of one thing. 

Oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning arrived with a headache and it took more than a few moments for Harry to get his bearings. He was wrapped up in Sirius’ bed sheets, fully clothed and feeling like a stunner had knocked him out. Mouth dry, he lurched off the bed and barely missed stepping on the box of potions from the previous evening. He slowly pushed them under the bed with his foot before making his way heavily to his own room to change. 

What was that last night? It had certainly lived up to its promise of being enjoyable but Harry had never expected it to be so…intense. The strength of the feelings left him wary in the stark reality of day. He would avoid drinking one again he decided. Although as the feelings he had deadened the previous evening crept back over him like dark of a shadow, this conviction weakened, if only slightly.

Remus was sitting at the kitchen table when he entered it late that morning, smiling genially as Harry entered on somewhat weak legs.

‘Morning, enjoy a lie in?” 

A plate of cooked breakfast items was situated in front of Lupin and an open paper sat on the table to his left. 

The glow of a dark mark by one of the stories caught Harry’s eye and he turned away with a mumbled greeting . His hands shook slightly as he reached for a mug and he frowned, forcing them still. When he turned around, Remus was also frowning. 

‘Everything okay, Harry?’ half a sausage precariously balanced on his fork.

‘Yeah, just, didn’t sleep all that well last night’.

He carefully filled the kettle with water, his arms shaking with the weight as it filled. His answer seemed to mollify Remus somewhat as he was nodding his head understandingly. 

‘Ah, I can somewhat sympathise’

His voice had a harsh scratch to it. 

Whilst the water boiled Harry stole a long look at the other man who was continuing with his sausages somewhat slowly. He was pale and slightly thinner than Harry reckoned he used to be. Belying his words, dark circles bruised the skin underneath his eyes. 

Harry realised with a pang of guilt that he didn’t know when the next, or the last, full moon was, but he didn’t think it was that soon. The gnawing guilt in his stomach twisted sharply at the realisation that since the Department of Mysteries, he hadn’t once really considered the effect of Sirius’ death on Remus.

Snape's voice sounded unexpectedly in his head, muttering biting words heavy with insinuation. Harry had heard him hurl several taunts at Sirius and Remus the previous summer. Things that had made Sirius slightly louder that usual and Remus slightly quieter. Smirking jabs like; “Keep a leash on your girlfriend Lupin, if you please, or better yet, muzzle him” and a snide “perhaps if you actually paid attention instead of mooning after Lupin like a lovesick puppy…’. 

It was hardly unusual for Snape to try and rile up both or either of the men so Harry hadn’t read much into anything but now, as he watched the defeated slump Remus had adopted, they resounded through his head, crisp and defined. He suddenly found himself unable to look at Lupin.

He scooped tealeaves hastily into his mug wanting to retreat now from the sad man behind him. When the hot water from the kettle hit the bottom of the mug, his anger surged out with it, both bubbling hot and threatening to spill over the edges. 

Where was Dumbledore? Where were the Weasley’s for fucks sake? Everyone had been pawing at Harry and left Remus to slowly fall apart. 

And Harry had been left here with him.

Harry, a teenager who had just lost everything, again, left to…what? Support him? To comfort a depressed, adult, afflicted wizard with a penchant for turning into a murderous animal once a month. His Knuckles whitened around his stirring spoon and he glanced at Remus again.

The man was looking intently at the food on his plate, but Harry could see now that despite the amount piled on it, very little had actually been eaten. Shamefully he poured a dash of milk in his drink and watched it neutralise the darkness. That wasn’t fair of him, he thought. It wasn’t Remus’ fault. He wasn’t a monster. But the selfish resentment turning inside of him left him wondering if he could say the same about himself.

*

Three days passed with little in the way of order meetings. Although an awkward encounter with Mr. Weasley offering to bring Ron to visit had ended with Harry snapping at him. He didn’t know how to explain that the thought of seeing his friends right now made him close to nauseous. He had no energy to force his smiles and cringed at the thought of Ron’s awkward shoulder pats and mumbled ‘It’ll be all right mate’s. Hermione, to his relief, was abroad with her parents and presumably unable to owl Grimmauld place. Since then, no one had approached him and he was careful to take his few meals when Remus was elsewhere. The man’s deterioration made Harry uncomfortable to watch.

The house had always been quiet but now the emptiness enhanced the feeling of isolation. Harry sat in the library, amidst the bookshelves, perusing a particularly nastily looking book titled ‘Potions, Poisons and Potent Philtres’. He’d spent the afternoon scouring the Black family library for some mention of “Oblivion” but so far had come up empty handed. He was now convinced the name was some sort of wizarding slang. He had even, very briefly, considered asking Remus but he didn’t want to get Sirius in trouble if they were something he shouldn’t have had. He was also oddly concerned that Remus might take them away. Though he hadn’t been too tempted to try another, something about knowing that some sort of escape from his feelings was available if he needed it had left him comforted.

He peered at a passage about ‘mind-altering potions’. _“Such substances can be used to great effect when the need to manipulate the mind without the use of traceable spellwork is required.” _Shivering, he flipped the page. It wasn’t other people’s minds that he wanted altering, he thought.__

The door to the library creaked open and a particularly shabby looking Lupin peered inside. Harry used his half-hidden position to shove the text in his lap on a bottom shelf.

Squinting at the noise, Lupin’s eyes settled on Harry’s and he smiled without it reaching his eyes.

‘I don’t mean to disturb your reading’ he started and Harry shook his head placatingly.

‘I just thought I should mention that Arthur, Molly and the rest have asked about joining us for dinner next week. Molly said something about making sure we are fed and watered properly’ he chuckled softly. ‘Seven children and all she does is seem to adopt more’.

Harry didn’t smile back. ‘Thanks for the warning’ 

Remus stood for a moment, making no move to leave, despite Harry’s silent begging, then seemed to steel himself and settled himself in an armchair a few feet away. Harry cringed inside. He wasn’t in the talking mood. 

‘I know you want your space but I thought it might be a good idea.’ Lupin rubbed his hands on his shabby trousers. ‘I’ve noticed…’ he hesitated ‘I’ve noticed that you hadn’t been eating as much recently.’ He forced a light tone. ‘A bit of Molly’s fattening up might do you good’. 

Harry’s jaw tightened. Lupin was lecturing him on his eating habits? The man was barely eating himself, and Harry didn’t need a whole lot of energy every month to survive a traumatic transformation. 

‘Might do you more good than me’ he said carefully.

Lupin froze just for a second before rubbing his hands along his legs again.

‘I suppose it might do us both some good’ he conceded. 

The silence stretched between them. His muscles felt tense and an unwelcome throb pulsed in his temple.

‘Harry’ Lupin’s voice sounded pained. ‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been more…attentive since…’

Harry’s hands balled into fists. He didn’t want to have this conversation. 

Lupin swallowed. ‘Since Sirius died… I know I’m not the most ideal person for you right now, but I would like if you felt you could talk to me.’ 

Harry looked up to find the man watching him through the books. 

Memories flooded him unheeded and suddenly he couldn’t not remember Sirius sitting in that very chair, laughing heartily, talking easily, drinking contently. Alive. 

The man who sat there now was a poor imitation of the life that should still be glowing there. Sadness seemed to drip off him.

This man didn’t feel like his godfather. This wasn’t his family. He felt to Harry like the Professor who’d taught Harry in his third year, a teacher talking to a troubled student and trying desperately to gain his trust. Except even the Lupin of back then was preferable to the broken figure before him. 

He was feeling the bite of anger in his stomach again and it twisted out of him like fast growing vines, wrapping around his heart and lungs and clenching hard. It was outrageous, he realised, that this man could sit there, pale and faint whilst Sirius, whose vitality had shone so brightly, was gone.

He fought to keep his voice even, his voice coming out muted and chilly. ‘It’s hard, Professor, to talk to someone who’s falling apart himself.’ 

Remus grimaced. Guilt and something like hurt flashed across his expression but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. His skin felt uncomfortably hot.

‘Yes, I imagine it is.’ came the man’s quiet voice ‘I’m sorry, Harry. I hadn’t realised…I will do better, you have my word.’ Harry watched him rubbed one hand across the marred skin on his face wearily. ‘I know that Sirius would have been—‘

No. 

‘Sirius is dead.’ Harry cut him off abruptly.

The vines squeezed him tighter. He didn’t want to hear what Remus thought Sirius would want. 

‘He’s dead and now you have no one and you’re trying to get close to me to make yourself feel better. I’m not a stuffed animal, Professor.’

“Please Harry, call me Remus-‘

‘No’ he said, the cold air of the room seeping into his voice. ‘I don’t want to be your friend. Find someone else to lick your wounds’. 

On some level Harry knew he was being unfair but the constriction in his chest was making him increasingly claustrophobic and he couldn’t help blaming the other man for it. He just felt so… _angry_. Everyone was trying to help him as if life hadn’t changed forever but yet it fell to him to pick up the pieces when _they fell apart_. Why couldn’t they leave him alone and sort themselves out. 

‘Harry, don’t do this’.

Lupin’s tone wasn’t quite as soft now.

‘Do what? You talk to me like you think you can just replace him. Well you can’t. Not even close.’ He fought to keep his voice from shaking. ‘He was all the family I had left, I didn’t ask to be stuck with you’.

The other man’s face tightened.

‘That’s unfair. I know I can’t replace him; I am not trying to replace him. Merlin Harry, I’m just trying to say that I am here for you!’

‘Yeah, well I wish you were somewhere else!’ 

He was aware he was yelling now but it felt good to push some of his rage out and fill the room with it. He shoved himself to his feet, not even feeling the pain when he hit his elbow hard enough to bruise. 

‘The last thing I need right now is to be kept around by some lonely middle-aged man during his breakdown just so that he can feel like he has a friend’ he snarled, shoving past the books and finding himself in front of Lupin’s armchair in strides he couldn’t remember taking.

Remus stood suddenly to face him, his face pink and flushed. He looked like he was trying to get a grip on his own emotions before speaking, but Harry didn’t feel like giving him the chance. He just wanted to end this and get out of the room. 

He didn’t want to hear what Lupin had to say anymore. 

The constriction inside him squeezed just once more and when Harry spoke again, his voice was quiet but his words carried like he was still shouting.

‘Or maybe it’s something else’

He looked Lupin in the eyes. 

‘Maybe you’re the one trying to find a replacement? Maybe this friendly act is just so you can get me into bed with you? Is that it _Remus_? You want someone to _fuck_ so you can feel loved again?’

Remus flinched like Harry had physically struck him. The flush on his face disappeared as it promptly drained of colour. 

Not wanting to be there when the man got his powers of speech back, Harry pushed past him roughly and stormed up the stairs. He kept up the pace until he was at the top of the house, slamming Sirius door behind him. His legs had carried him here automatically and now his hands took over, grabbing at the box under the bed and snatching out one of the tiny glass bottles.

Without pause or hesitation, Harry jerked the cork off the top and downed the potion in one.


	3. Chapter 3

Remus hadn’t woken him next day and Harry found it was mid-afternoon by the time he woke. 

He almost immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Groaning and burying his head in Sirius’s blankets, he couldn’t decide what was worse, the throbbing pain in his head or the uncomfortable knot in his stomach. Guilt left over from his fight with Lupin licked at the periphery of his mind but he firmly pushed the thoughts aside. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

He turned his focus to his body instead. His limbs felt heavy and leaden as he heaved himself upright, almost like he’d grown used to zero gravity before being slammed unceremoniously back to earth. With some concern, he noticed the shakes he had experienced last time were wracking his entire body on this occasion and he cursed softly. It had been stupid of him to drown his anger out with a potion he still didn’t fully understand. His emotions and head were reeling together and with an unwelcome stab of dread he realised it was Friday. He didn’t know how he was going to cope with Snape’s onslaught later feeling like this. Shivering he padded to his own room and showered, hugging his shaking arms to his chest under the water.

Once he had dressed and managed to hold in his shudders to a degree, he crept slowly down the stairs, wary about bumping into Remus. He was unsure of the man’s mood and how he should act around him. However, a quick sweep of the downstairs and Lupin’s room left Harry fairly certain the man wasn’t home, and neither was anyone else. Absently, he wondered if he was even allowed to be left alone. 

He knew the house was secure, but even so, he assumed Dumbledore would insist on an around-the-clock guard, much to his irritation. Whatever the case, Harry found himself grateful for the alone time as he made himself breakfast. Maybe it was best if Lupin had some time to calm down anyway. Harry decided he would apologise when he next saw him. He knew his comments about Remus’... intentions with him had crossed the line and although the anger wasn’t gone, he had enough presence of mind left to know when he was being unfair. He would blame the outburst on tiredness, not completely untrue, and hopefully things would settle back into the awkward dance they had been stuck in before.

He made toast and then, carrying it between his teeth, pushed against the heavy library door, intent on distracting himself, only to freeze as it swung open to reveal a chaotic scene. The bookshelf he had hid behind the day before was on the ground and leather bound tomes were scattered violently across the room. His eyes flicked to the armchair Lupin had been sitting in. It also lay on the floor on its side, one of the legs snapped clean in two.

A sudden panic gripped Harry for a moment. Did he do this? He had probably been angry enough to let out accidental magic last night but he didn’t remember the room getting trashed...No. He would have definitely noticed. 

Relief washed over him, he was sure he wouldn’t have been the only one who’d have noticed and he didn’t much feel like sitting down over tea with Dumbledore to explain why he had been so annoyed that his magic had all but flipped out.

Lupin must have done this, he realised, his eyes scanning the library’s destruction. The thought was sobering. Whilst he’d seen the man lose his temper, especially at certain times of the moon cycle, it took a lot to get him there. It was unusual for him to even raise his voice and his calm in the face of some of Snape’s nastier jibes had downright impressed Harry in the past.

But yet, Harry eyed the ripped fabric of what he imagined to be a very old and once very expensive armchair, _he_ had managed to rile Lupin up to the point of all out tantrum. He frowned, all at once annoyed. He knew he shouldn’t have provoked Lupin but in some ways, this sort of proved his point. Not allowed to repair anything magically himself, and damned if he’d be stuck cleaning up after a grown man's meltdown, he turned and left the room. Let Lupin face the evidence of his behaviour later.

He passed the time by hunting for doodles in Sirius magazine collection instead. Though he hadn’t found many, the few he did were enough to leave him aching. The doodles were rough and scratchy and reminded Harry of the man himself, frivolous and unrefined but with heart etched into every blot of ink. Gryffindor lions and sketchy motorbikes blinked up at him and Harry even found something that looked like a small mock up of one of the tunnels detailed on the Marauder's Map. 

By the time Harry had scoured the collection twice over it was early evening and the aches in his joints had grown. His hands shook so violently that he had come close to ripping entire pages and a matching pain in his head had joined the ache in his chest. As shadows crept even heavier over the room it occurred to Harry that facing Snape’s mental onslaught with nothing but painful memories of Sirius filling his head and a full-body tremor was a distinctly horrific idea. 

He glanced to the ancient wooden clock in the opposite corner of the room. 

7:40. 

Fuck. 

Gasping, he urged his protesting limbs to push him to his feet and held one shaking hand in front of his face. He stretched his fingers taught and then relaxed them but the shuddering didn’t cease. He cursed, panic seizing him. Snape, would he know what Harry had done? The man was a potions master and probably familiar with a load of potion after effects. Harry still wasn’t sure about the exact nature of the potion but he was fast becoming sure it wasn’t all that legal and Snape would be the first person to jump at the chance to get him into trouble, not to mention grab at another excuse to insult Sirius in front of Harry. He blinked rapidly trying to think of a decent excuse for involuntary shivering. His breath was tight and fast, as the hands on the clock seemed to speed up mockingly. 

He glanced guiltily at the corner of the potions box sticking out from under the bed, wondering if he should hide it. His body seemed to almost sing in reply and he felt a craving like he'd never experienced before. The box whispered promises across the empty still room. The bottles called to him even more strongly than the garden hose had on sweltering days toiling in the Dursley's garden. Sweet muscles memories of taking the potion danced around his body almost like he was being rewarded for just looking at it. His shaking eased slightly. 

Almost reverently, he took a step towards the bed. Plans and realizations were weaving through his head. He wasn’t having a bad reaction to the potion, his body just liked it so much that it craved more for a day or so afterwards, and all he’d have to do to make the pain and the aching and the shaking stop was to take a little bit more. It was so _easy_. It was right there right in front of him.

His foot left a dust print as he edged closer to the bed. The ticking from the clock had settled itself in the back of his thoughts, providing both an external and internal background metronome as his thoughts continued to flow, more sure now.

He could just take a tiny bit. A half dose. Enough to leave him lucid yet feeling fit. It was the perfect solution. The potion would cure his headache and his shaking but it would also calm him and allow him to clear his head. Harry never felt much of anything when he was on the potion, just…serenity. Then he could simply take the next day off to recover and tell Lupin he was ill, no one would be any the wiser.

The clock in the room and the clock in his head chimed simultaneously, as if accompanying his decision. Scurrying forward the rest of the way Harry reached one hand blindly into the box, shaking, clammy fingers meeting cool, soothing glass. Hastily, Harry poured what he hoped was about half of the solution into his mouth and closed his eyes as he swallowed, almost groaning in pleasure at his body’s response. His aching muscles immediately relaxed and radiated comfort. He tipped his head back enjoying the rush and roar in his ears, remaining in place until his bones glowed warm and a door banged somewhere below him. 

Shoving the box as hard as he could, Harry stood and paused to let the rush subside slightly. He took quick note of his faculties. He could walk and see and he thought he could stay awake, at least for now. He didn’t feel like immediately collapsing as he did when he took a full dose anyway, just very very...mellow. He wasn’t shaking at all. 

He could do this.

“Potter!’ an impatient voice barked from downstairs.

Harry stiffened and then relaxed once more as another wave of pure pleasure assaulted him. He took a shaky breath, hoping he hadn’t overdone the dosage and started towards the staircase to meet the dark denizen of the dungeons himself.

Snape was waiting by the bottom of the stairs, wearing his customary dark attire and an impatient expression. At his somewhat shaky arrival, Snape’s lip curled and he walked brusquely towards the drawing room, clearly expecting Harry to follow.

‘I see I was overly optimistic in thinking you could follow simple instructions or, indeed, _count_ ’ Snape threw over his shoulder.

Harry frowned as his limbs missed a beat before responding to his mental request for him to move and followed after Snape, putting one foot in front of the other carefully.

Snape paused at the drawing room doorway.

‘Faster, Potter, my time is actually valuable. Walking slowly isn’t going to make this situation more bearable I promise you’

Harry blinked at that. He hadn’t realised he was walking slower than usual. He doubled his efforts and found the drawing room cleared of furniture, other than a single stool that stood in the middle of the floor. Absently, Harry wondered whether Snape was going make him stand on it, then fix a noose to his neck and kick it from under him. It wouldn’t surprise him.

Shutting the door smartly, Snape spun and narrowed his eyes at Harry. Harry held his gaze, forcing his eyes to refocus whenever his stare got too deep. He felt himself sway slightly.

The silence echoed off the walls and then Snape’s impatient voice did the same.

‘What’s the matter with you, Potter?’

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, this time looking at the floor. He sat down heavily on the stool behind him and relaxed a little when his surroundings seemed to steady slightly. 

‘Nothing’

‘Some respect if it’s not too much for you, potter.’

‘Nothing, _sir_ ’

Snape sneered down at him. ‘Missing your beauty sleep?’

Harry set his jaw. ‘Just a little dizzy, sir. I think I’m getting over a cold or something.’

There was a pause like Snape was considering his answer and Harry kept his face carefully neutral.

‘Have you eaten today at least?’ 

Like you care, Harry thought. 

‘No…stomach’s still a bit off.’

Snape made an unimpressed noise in his throat.

‘Next time don’t be so foolish and make sure you’re fed. You’re about to spend two hours _attempting_ to prevent me from penetrating your defences and I actually want you to _try_ this time Potter, so you will need the energy.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Where’s your lupine housemaid?’

Harry hesitated, his eyes still fixed on the floor. He let Snape’s words spill over him but it was like he was hearing them through a bubble, one that was thickening by the second.

‘Don’t know’. He murmured at bubble Snape.

‘Shirking his duties? The headmaster will be disappointed’. The potion masters words were laced with something that Harry vaguely felt like he should object to. But he didn’t. 

‘We had fight’. Harry frowned as his jaw struggled to form the words clearly, he felt like he was trying to talk through molasses.

The words that rang back of him were muffled and echoic. A few of them broke through the bubble and shimmered in front of Harry’s face. ‘How sentimental…’ ‘…tail between his legs…’ ‘…prepare yourself, Potter’. Harry started a bit at the last part.

Prepare himself? Prepare himself for what? His neck felt like Jelly but he still pushed his chin up to look at Snape, only to find himself at wand point. Staring dumbly whilst his mind struggled to keep up with what was happening, Harry just watched as the man intoned ‘ _Legilimens_!’ and he felt himself hit like by an unforgiving, icy, ocean wave.


	4. Chapter 4

Severus pushed into the boy’s mind with almost no resistance, or at least no tangible barrier or wall. Instead it felt like Potter’s mind was coated in thick, grey fog. 

Perturbed, he attempted to sharpen his own senses to compensate for the disorientation, but the fog crept around the edges, obscuring his view. He was becoming more and more disconcerted and did a quick sweep for emotions or memories he could cling onto but the fog only expanded and soon his own head was swimming. Vaguely he felt his purpose and intentions fading and his thoughts numbing…

Alarmed now, he violently pulled out from from the boy’s mind and found his physical self on his knees across the room, breathing heavily and struggling to get his bearings.

Cursing angrily with a sick mix of humiliation at being floored and confusion, he rose swiftly and brushed the dust from his shins, crossing the room in quick, long strides to grab Potter by the collar and yank him to his feet.

‘Explain yourself!’ he snapped in the boy’s unnervingly blank face.

Potter’s eyes slowly shifted to meet his and with disbelief, Snape saw that they were glassy and unfocused. His pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, making the green around them seem unnaturally vast. He felt his grip on Potter’s collar lose some of its sureness in his shock.

The boy was off his face. 

Feeling disgusted, Snape shoved Potter roughly to the floor where he landed in an undignified heap with an even more undignified whimper. He seemed almost alcohol intoxicated but Snape knew it to be more than that. These weren’t the eyes and actions of a drunk. Potter had taken something a lot stronger to affect him so profoundly.

And Snape was going to find out what.

‘What have you taken, Potter?’ he questioned with no small degree of warning in his voice.

The boy shook his head and opened his eyes wide as if trying to determine if they were closed or not. 

‘Wha…nothing’

‘DO NOT LIE’ Snape roared. He towered close over the boy. ‘I’m warning you now Potter, do not treat me like a fool. What. Have. You. Taken?’

‘I…just a potion. For anxiety’

Fury gripped Snape searingly and he yanked Potter up by the scruff of the neck, all but throwing him against the back wall and pushing his face next to Potter’s, allowing him no relief from Snape’s scrutiny. How dare Potter of all people sit there and lie to him.

‘I SAID DO NOT TREAT ME LIKE A FOOL! No calming draught would cause such a despicable state, you can barely stand unattended!’

Snape had also noticed that boy’s words were slurred and his breathing was laboured, but from whether that was from whatever he’d taken or fear, Snape didn’t know or care.

‘I...I thought it was, I found it…in one of the rooms’ 

The complete disbelief Snape felt at this explanation almost overtook his anger, but not quite. Though it did seep darkly into his tone.

‘You _found_ and _drank_ an unfamiliar potion in a house full of dark artefacts?’ he hissed, ‘you stupid, _stupid_ child.’

He studied Potter’s face. There was indeed some fear present but there was much too much blankness in his expression for Snape’s liking.

‘Are there more?’ He watched Potter’s face carefully.

‘N…no, sir. Just one.’

Snape opened his fist abruptly and the boy sank in a pile at his feet.

‘If I find you have lied to me again…’

Potter shook his head. Snape watched him carefully for a long moment. He didn’t seem to be in danger of overdosing; rather, the boy was just very high.

Revulsion filled his entire body. ‘You are pathetic’ Snape spat as he watched the boy struggle to prop himself up efficiently. ‘How I wish the people could see their chosen one now. Crawling on the ground, wasted.’

Potter gave a weak moan and lifted his hands to cover his face.

‘There’s no point being ashamed now, Potter. Face the consequences of your foolish choices. How much did you ingest?’

A pause.

‘Half.’ 

‘Half of _what?_ ’ Snape snapped.

Potter didn’t move.

‘Fetch me the bottle.’ He demanded, and when Potter still didn’t move ‘NOW!’

He watched the boy stumble out the door and heard unsteady footsteps climb the stairs.

Anger rolled off him in dark pulses. Everything, _everything_ , rested on the boy and at every turn he continued to be reckless and selfish. Snape had thought the mutt’s death would have been the slap in the face Potter needed to understand that his foolhardy actions had consequences but he was clearly mistaken. The sheer arrogance of it astounded Snape. He didn’t know if Potter really had downed the first thing he’d found to cure his ‘anxieties’ or if it had been a purposeful attempt at being intoxicated but both options just confirmed for him the stupidity and self-destructiveness that the boy had adopted as his defining attributes.

A soft sound at the door had him spinning round in time to see the perpetual pain in his neck retuning, leaning one arm heavily on the doorway to keep his balance. A small glass potion’s phial hung loosely from his fingers. Not bothering to hide his noise of contempt, Snape strode over and grabbed Potter tightly by the upper arm, steering him to the stool before he had to watch any embarrassing displays when the boy keeled over. He snatched the phial from the limp fingers and bought it up to eye level.

Studying the dark liquid inside he noted the phial was of particularly cheap material, usually designed to be disposable. Whoever had brewed the substance hadn’t decanted it particularly carefully either; the entire bottle was tacky and stained. Carefully uncorking it, he paused to check Potter was still conscious and upright then took a careful sniff. A strong scent of ketones and something bitter that he recognised as wormwood filled his senses. 

Snape inhaled sharply through his mouth and corked the bottle before slipping it inside his robe. He recognised the potion as a strong recreational substance, used to induce feelings of euphoria, numbness, and lethargy, among others. It was also highly addictive, restricted by the ministry and toxic in high enough doses. 

No wonder the boy was utterly out of it. 

Snape had expected some sort of recreational potion use but this was a significantly more extreme example than he had expected, it was considered the wizarding heroin by those familiar with muggle narcotics. Even a half dose on a boy Potter’s statue would be exceedingly potent.

He ran his eyes across Potter’s slumped form and then abruptly gathered a fistful of the boy’s hair and tilted his head up sharply to expose his face. Peering into green blotted eyes, Snape could see the boy was struggling to keep them open and they seemed to stare through Snape like he wasn’t even there. Potter’s cheeks were flushed and his breathing was slow and rather shallow, forcing Severus to perform a hasty diagnostic spell to check his oxygen saturation levels. Satisfied there wasn’t any immediate danger, he roughly heaved the boy up off the unsupportive stool once more and half dragged him to the wall where he slumped against it.

A noise like cutlery rang softly from the doorway and both of them turned instinctively towards it. Then the boy looked to him pleadingly.

‘Sir, please, don’t tell…please’ he whispered.

Snape sneered. ‘You’re not in a position to inform what I do, Potter. You clearly can’t be left unsupervised and you’re not wasting any more of my time’

Potter groaned and slumped his chin into his chest.

Lip curling, Snape swept across the room and out the door, shutting and locking it behind him. He entered the kitchen to find a ragged Lupin nursing a cup of tea gingerly. His movements had a tender element to them that belied the proximity to the full moon.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he snapped, making the other man jump and slosh tea over his hand.

Wincing, Lupin glanced his way and grabbed at a threadbare tea towel to dab at his wrist.

‘Severus, you startled me…’

‘Then you can only imagine my own surprise at finding an emotional teenager with a habit of making dangerous and impulsive decisions left here alone, to his own foolish devices?’

Lupin looked uncomfortable and Snape could sense he was avoiding his gaze.

‘We had a slight…disagreement. At the time I thought it best if we both had a bit of space—‘

‘You are supposed to be watching the boy! Not quarrelling like lovers and sulking off in a huff!’ Snape interrupted loudly.

At his words Lupin stiffened visibly, his eyes shooting up to meet Snape’s once more. His face twisted and Snape was momentarily surprised at the vitriol lacing the usually unruffled man’s voice.

‘Mind your words, Snape.’ he said warningly.

Lupin’s voice was deep and Snape thought he could all but hear the wakening wolf behind his words. Somewhat gratified by the rise he had gotten he leaned closer.

‘Or what, Lupin? I feel it would be difficult for you to cause much more damage than you already have.’

The wolf’s brows knitted together and Snape smirked as he set his cup down clumsily.

‘What do you mean?’ Lupin asked slowly.

Snape stared back at him. 

‘Where’s Harry?’ the werewolf questioned, something bordering on panic suddenly rising in his tone.

Snape felt a delicious thrill of anticipation for the reaction to his next words. Potter being in this state right after he and the wolf had clearly been quarrelling would all but destroy Lupin, but foolish actions deserved their consequences.

‘He’s out of his mind on drugs’ Snape reverently announced.

Lupin just stared at him. ‘What?’

‘Your golden boy, he’s in the drawing room wasted as we speak. Slurring and stumbling like a Knockturn beggar’

Lupin continued to stare. When Snape didn’t break eye contact or reveal his words were all some cruel joke, he shook his head and whispered a disbelieving ‘no…’

Snape almost snorted. It had always been painfully hard for Potter’s doting fan club to grasp the truth that Snape could see so plainly; the boy was an arrogant swine.

‘He came to his Occlumency lesson already off his face having downed a potent strain of “Oblivion”. No doubt your mongrel is to blame. I must say how frustrating it is to have him fucking things up even from beyond the grave’ Snape hissed.

Lupin had gone very pale. He pushed past Snape and a moment later could be heard barking _‘Alohomora’_ at the drawing room door. 

Snape gave a grim smile as the sound of the wolf’s voice; high and desperate as he no doubt discovered his undignified saviour slumped against the wall.

Good.

He wouldn’t allow this to be his problem.


End file.
